Aftermath: The Seed
by koinekid
Summary: Rodney McKay risks his career, his life, and his city to save the woman he loves from a deadly virus. Alternate Universe of "The Seed." Sequel to "Aftermath." Established McKeller. EPILOGUE now up.
1. Part 1: The Virus

**Stargate: Atlantis**

**Aftermath: The Seed**

**by koinekid**

**Disclaimer: **MGM owns SGA; I do not.

**Rating: **T (for language, violence, and sexual situations)

**Genre:** Action / Romance

**Time Frame: **During and after "The Seed" (Season 5, Episode 2)

**Canonicity:** AU diverging after "The Return" (Season 3, Episodes 10 and 11); sequel to author's previous story "Aftermath"

**Major Spoilers: **4x01 Adrift, 4x02 Lifeline, 5x02 The Seed

**Minor Spoilers: **4x07 Missing, 4x19 The Kindred Part 2

**Characters: **Rodney McKay, Jennifer Keller, John Sheppard, Carson Beckett, Teyla Emmagan, Richard Woolsey

**Pairings: **McKeller

_"Hurry it up!"_

_"Do you want it done fast, Rodney, or do you want it done right?"_

_"I don't want it done at all."_

_"We've been over this."_

_"Six hours, John."_

_"What?"_

_"Six hours ago I kissed my fiancée. Now we're not allowed to breathe the same air?"_

_"Would Keller want to expose you to this pathogen or whatever it is?"_

_"In her right mind? No. But she's not in her right mind. She's scared and alone, and I'm supposed to go in there dressed like she's a plague victim?"_

_"It's that, or you don't go in at all. Woolsey's orders."_

_"God, I miss Carter. No, not like that. She would have handled this better. To her, people are people; to him, they're assets."_

_"Stop worrying about Woolsey. Get _your_ asset in there and comfort Keller."_

* * *

Thick gloves made running his fingers through her hair awkward, and he pulled at several of the delicate, golden strands without meaning to. Jennifer made a face, and Rodney moved to kiss away her pain before realizing the biohazard suit's helmet would not let him. He settled for caressing her cheek instead. She leaned hard into his rubber-coated touch, seeking from it more than it could provide.

"I can't feel you, Rodney. I can't feel anything."

Her plaintive tone tore at his soul.

Wall-mounted cameras loomed over them like digital chaperons with ultra-sensitive microphones for ears. He leaned as close to her as he dared, Sheppard's warnings to the contrary aside, though he knew nothing would prevent weaselly Richard Woolsey and his voyeuristic cohorts from hearing his every word.

"Don't do it, Rodney." The reproachful voice of Carson Beckett sounded over the loudspeaker.

Rodney cautioned an upward glance into a camera, looking, he imagined, like a boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"What does he mean?"

Great, now _Jennifer_ sounded reproachful.

"Rodney is thinking of breaking the seal on his suit and trapping himself in the isolation suite with you, love. Think you can talk the stubborn git down?"

"I wasn't," Rodney lied. "At least not yet. There's probably still some good I can do for you on the outside."

"Don't!"

"I said I wasn't, Jennifer."

"Don't go, please not yet."

"I won't, I promise. Not until you say it's okay."

She calmed then, and Rodney glared at the cameras. He knew they were necessary so the medical team searching for a cure could monitor her condition; still, they made him self-conscious, and he found it difficult to be the Rodney McKay she needed him to be. _Her Rodney_ appeared only in the privacy of their quarters or offices or in the company of a few trusted friends. He was not for public display.

Well, not usually.

Once, after returning from an encounter with a cult that practiced human sacrifice, Rodney had seized Jennifer in a crushing embrace in the middle of a very active gate room. She hadn't objected, but since then Rodney had zealously guarded her reputation. For months after, he refused her so much as a peck on the cheek in public. That policy had been amended only by her threat to return his ring.

A tear rolled down her cheek.

"Do you remember our first kiss?" To hell with embarrassment. "You tasted like mint, and I could never figure out if it was your lip gloss or that tea you drink."

"You mean _mint_ tea?" A weak smile turned the corners of her mouth.

"Very droll, sweetheart." He matched the smile despite his fear. "It was the day we lost Elizabeth. I was moping out on the balcony, and you alone of everyone on Atlantis came to find me."

* * *

The hard floor absorbed the impacts of her sneakers, the ocean waves held his attention, so the feel of her pressed against his back startled him. Only when he heard her voice, could he relax into the embrace.

"Hey, you."

Though hopelessly sappy and the source of endless teasing, it had become their standard off-duty greeting by then. He returned it unabashed. "Hey, you."

Comforting fingers stroked his chest. "How you doing?"

A sigh. "Everything looks different now."

"Different planet, Rodney, different ocean."

"Not what I meant." He felt her nod against his back and shivered.

She broke the embrace long enough to reposition herself at his side and pull his arm around her shoulders. "I'm sorry about Doctor Weir. If I'd kept my trap shut—"

"Don't you dare."

"Rodney?"

"You're going to try and blame yourself so I feel less guilty when we both know whose fault this is." Passing blame was SOP for Rodney. He wasn't proud of it, but if the offer had come from anyone other than Jennifer, he would have accepted. She was persistent though. He had to give her that.

"Reactivating the nanites was my idea."

"It worked. You saved her, Jennifer, and she'd still be alive if I'd treated her as a friend instead of a passkey."

"First of all, _we_ saved her. I had an idea, you turned it into a plan. Second, Elizabeth volunteered to take the risk. She gave her life for Atlantis."

"She shouldn't have had to. If I had more time, I could have found a way to utilize her abilities safely from a distance. What's more—"

The taste of her and the smell of her flooded his senses. The slight part of her lips would not have allowed his tongue to pass had he regained his wits soon enough to try. But the contact lasted barely two seconds and momentarily swept away all thought and grief.

"You looked like you needed it," Jennifer explained. "God knows I did."

"What if I need another?"

His boldness shocked him, her more so, but she recovered quickly. "Just keep looking at me like that."

Their second kiss was open-mouthed, and it was she that implored entry into his. Later, he teased her about the dramatic escalation from one buss to the next. Her reply: "Tongue on the first kiss? No, I'm a lady, Mister."

* * *

"I said that?"

Rodney nodded. It struck him as one of the sexiest things he ever heard.

"You know, comforting you wasn't the only reason I kissed you."

"Motivated by my rakish good looks, were you?"

"Absolutely, but that isn't what I meant." Light dancing in her eyes, Jennifer beckoned him closer and whispered, "I was marking my territory. With Colonel Carter on Atlantis, I figured I'd better make a move or risk losing you forever."

Rodney was shaking his head before she finished speaking. "Never happen. I'm glad you kissed me though."

"Me too."

"Wish I could kiss you now."

An alarm interrupted the moment to signal that his suit's oxygen pack was nearly depleted.

Jennifer sighed. "I guess that's your cue."

"I'll stay if you want."

"You go on. I'll be...well, not okay, but..." She tried to shrug, but the cocoon restricted her movement.

At the door Rodney blew her a kiss. "Love you, Annabelle." *****

"Love you, Meredith."

The strength drained from his limbs as soon as the door sealed, and he would have fallen had Sheppard not been there to catch him. Tears welled in Rodney's eyes, and he blinked them away. Letting them fall would be admitting he might lose her. "Get me out of this thing."

"Rodney, listen."

"Save it, we're going to find a way to fix this."

"No, we're not." Sheppard unzipped the helmet. "Beckett confirmed that we're all infected. Woolsey is confining us to our quarters."

"Son of a bitch."

"Agreed."

Rodney watched their escorts arrive, his eyes searching out and finding a familiar face. _Perfect._

"Sorry about this, Doc." The west Texas accent was music to Rodney's ears.

"It's okay, Corporal Watkins. You're just doing your job." _Time for me to do mine. _Plans swirled in Rodney's head, and he figured someone was watching out for him when it was Watkins who was assigned to guard his quarters. That someone might or might not be a Lieutenant Colonel in the United States Air Force.

* * *

The protocols were already in place on his notebook, so it took less than ninety seconds to bypass the infirmary firewall and access the video feeds. He chose the feed centered on her face and positioned it in the corner of his screen to motivate him while he worked.

Her beauty wasn't something Jennifer flaunted, but Rodney knew it pleased her to turn men's heads. What this would do to her identity if it left her scarred, he could not fathom. What would it do to him? He had explored every inch of Jennifer's body these last months, and she protested whenever he pronounced her flawless. It was a game of theirs. She'd complain about some minor imperfection, and whatever the body part, Rodney would lavish on it minutes of attention with his fingers, tongue, or lips.

He pictured ugly, red splotches spread across her body, thought of her with a drooping face, unable to smile due to permanent nerve damage. Would she accept his praising her body then or think it mockery?

His cheeks were wet.

Minimizing the feed, he opened his media player and instructed it to play the first MP4 in his recent file list. Jennifer appeared before him on the months-old video. If he squinted hard, Rodney could see the faintest trace of the split lip from her ordeal on New Athos, an injury that had long since healed. They'd shot the video in her quarters, positioning the camera so that the viewer could see no trace of Ancient technology or architecture.

"Hi, Dad," she began, her smile radiant. "Remember that guy I was telling you about during my last trip home? Well, the boss lady gave me permission to introduce him." She motioned to someone off camera, and Rodney wished he could enter the video and relive the moment. His past self sat down beside her on the couch wearing a smile wider than his face.

Video Jennifer draped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close. "This is Doctor Rodney McKay. He has doctorates in astrophysics and mechanical engineering, is quite possibly the smartest man on Earth, and..." She kissed his cheek. "I love him."

Video Rodney beamed. "I love Jennifer too, Mister Keller. As I'm sure you already know, she's a brilliant physician and scientist, a genius. Everyone on base loves her. Not the way I love her, of course, though quite a few of the other men have crushes. A few of the women too, I think."

"Rodney!"

"Sorry." Video Rodney took her hand. "Sometimes I have trouble thinking straight around her, sir. Straight as in linear not as in heterosexual. Believe me, I have no trouble... Okay, shall we try another take?"

It took three more takes until Jennifer had a video she judged worthy of sending to her dad. Rodney thought the end result would look over-rehearsed, perhaps even scripted. It hadn't. His feelings, even restrained for the camera, shined through every frame.

He paused the video at a shot of the two of them laughing together and restored the live feed. Positioned side-by-side with the carefree Jennifer of the past, she of the here and now should have looked haggard, disheveled. She didn't, not for a moment.

Rodney wasn't sure what he expected to feel – revulsion maybe, or pity, guilt that he was as shallow as he always knew he was. He felt none of these things; rather, a love for her, deeper and purer than any he'd ever felt for another person, suffused every molecule of his being from heart to marrow. In his mind he saw her blotched and imperfect, deep lines worn into her face from a permanent frown.

She'd never been more beautiful.

He closed Media Player and ran his fingers across her image on the live feed. He jumped when Jennifer suddenly opened her eyes. She was panicking. Rodney had muted the audio so it wouldn't interfere with his video. By the time he restored it, it was too late. The screen was black; the feed was dead.

_**To be continued**_

_**Thanks for reading. Reviews are appreciated.**_

_**This story is a sequel to the author's earlier work "Aftermath."**_

(*****) Want to know why Rodney calls Jennifer _Annabelle_? Find out why in "Aftermath" Part 4.


	2. Part 2: Rodney Goes Rogue

**Thanks to the reviewers: Chasing Liquor, ElisaD263, Jay Say, **and **RoryFaller. **This chapter is dedicated to... (pulls number out of hat)... RoryFaller yet again. Better luck next time to all the others.

**Note: **Writing longhand after not doing so for several years is slow, tedious, and frustrating. Blame power outages across the Southeastern United States for the lateness of this update.

**Disclaimer: **MGM owns SGA; I do not.

**Stargate: Atlantis**

**Aftermath: The Seed**

**by koinekid**

"Doc, I have _orders_." The last word came out like a whimper, as if Watkins were a little boy who wanted more than anything to help his friend if only Papa Woolsey would let him. "I'm sure Doctor Beckett's team are doing everything they can."

"It's _Jennifer's_ team," Rodney snapped.

"Of course it is. I didn't mean—"

"You didn't see the video feed." Rodney's agitated pacing took him through the doorway. "Something is very wrong. I have to find out what."

"Get back inside, Doc." Watkins drew his stunner.

"Watkins – Eric, please."

"You're not the only one on base who cares about Doctor Keller. That woman has saved my life so many times it's embarrassing." He nodded toward the doorway. "Get inside. I'll call Control and see what's up."

Rodney shook his head. "Not good enough."

"It'll have to be." Watkins reached up to tap his earwig. Politeness so ingrained that boot camp and years in the military had not stripped it away caused him to break eye contact with the scientist. It was an unconscious gesture, meant to signal he was speaking with someone else. It was also a mistake.

Had Rodney been thinking clearly, what happened next might not have. But the last few seconds before the feed went black replayed on a constant loop in his mind, and the stark terror in his fiancée's face drove away clear thinking. Base instinct took over, and before the corporal could get out more than a few words, Rodney tackled him.

The stunner went flying. Rodney scrambled after it. His fingers closed around the grip just as Watkins made a grab for his ankle. Rodney kicked free and rolled and fired before he had a clear shot. The stun bolt went wide and struck the wall. The corporal ducked his head, giving the scientist a crucial moment to line up his second shot. Watkins looked up and caught a stun blast in the face.

Rodney's eyes darted to and fro. Miraculously, the corridor was empty. He allowed himself a five-count to steady his nerves before pushing to his feet. Already, lucidity was threatening to return and with it crippling panic. Stifling them, he opened the door to his quarters and dragged the corporal inside, leaving him sprawled in the middle of the floor.

The corporal's radio Rodney transferred to his own ear; despite its proximity to the blast, the device remained undamaged. The same could not be said for Watkins' face. Hours of exposure to the midday sun could not have burned it more severely. At least he wouldn't be able to see the damage for several days. Chances were good the flash had damaged his corneas.

The sooner he received treatment, the better. But Rodney needed a head start. The best he could do for Watkins was to program a priority one message to be delivered to the infirmary in half an hour. He did, then transferred the programs he'd been coding onto a tablet and headed out the door. On the go, he opened a comm channel.

"McKay to..."

Who could he trust? Sheppard and Ronon would be cut off from communications as he had been. Carson maybe? He loved Jennifer like a daughter, but Rodney needed him working on a cure. And Radek would report whatever Rodney said to Woolsey.

"McKay to Teyla. I need a sitrep."

* * *

According to Teyla, Woolsey had cut power to the building housing the isolation suite. That explained the video feeds going down, but Rodney wasn't satisfied. He managed to dissuade the Athosian from visiting his quarters by insisting that she stay near the control room and keep him updated on Jennifer's situation. "If they're going to kill the love of my life, I'd like advanced notice."

It was a dramatic overstatement – Woolsey was surely too by-the-book to try anything so extreme – but it had the intended effect of convincing Teyla to stay put. For good measure, Rodney rattled off a batch of information for her to relay to the expedition leader.

The conversation with Teyla tied up the line while Watkins' superior repeatedly called to check in. When one of those calls got through, Rodney quickened his pace down the corridor.

So far as he knew, no announcement had gone out over the citywide PA warning the general population that he and the others might be compromised. Unless he ran into someone in the loop, or someone noticed his severe agitation or the awkward way he held his tablet to cover the stunner, he should be fine. If he was lucky, he'd reach the transporter before someone noticed Watkins missing from his post.

"Doctor McKay! Doctor McKay, stop this instant!"

Richard Woolsey. _Damn it._ Was Lady Luck running on empty? No problem, Rodney McKay made his own luck. He refused to break stride. No soldiers were in the vicinity, so Woolsey couldn't depend on anyone to halt Rodney's retreat. The transporter was in sight. If he hurried...

"Woolsey to Control."

_Shit!_ Had Woolsey contacted security, Rodney could have made a run for it. Contacting Control meant one thing – cutting power to the transporter. Rodney wheeled around, took aim, and kissed his career goodbye.

Most of the personnel milling about in the hall scattered when Woolsey hit the floor, though one of the expedition's more physically-able scientists decided to play the hero. Steeling himself to absorb the punch, Rodney retained his grip on the stunner as he fell. A squeeze of the trigger, and the Vin Diesel wannabe went down.

A dozen personnel were calling for security by the time Rodney regained his footing. _No time to shoot them all._ He bolted for the transporter. As the doors shut, he heard over his earwig, "Watkins, where in hell are—"

The transmission died as the transporter engaged.

* * *

The doors opened onto an empty corridor. Through the window Rodney could see the building that housed the isolation suite. A mass of purplish tendrils had exploded from inside and snarled around the upper floors like so many creeping vines. The longer Rodney stared, the more they reminded him of the interior of a hive ship. _Is that what's happening to us, to her?_

His chest tightened, and he collapsed against the wall, sucking in huge, gasping breaths. Whether his legs gave out or a memory of Jennifer's voice guided him through the proper procedure, he slid to the floor and stretched out, bent his legs at the knees. He clung to the idea that it was her voice.

_Breathe, baby. That's it, in and out._ Soft, ethereal fingers stroked his cheek. _Everything will be all right, I promise._

_You can't know that._

_I promise._

It had been six months ago that she'd witnessed his first and thus far only full blown panic attack in the Pegasus Galaxy. A sensor glitch had initiated a citywide quarantine, which sealed all the doors and tripped the city's self-destruct sequence. He and Jennifer had been in the infirmary waiting for her relief to arrive so they could go to lunch.

Doctor Cole was taking her sweet time getting there, and it was all Rodney could do to keep Jennifer from noticing the bulge in his pants. Not the bulge in the front, which frankly she knew to expect whenever they were alone together for longer than a few minutes; rather, the one in his pocket made by the marquise diamond ring in its tiny, black box.

Rodney spent the first forty minutes of the lockdown trying in vain to use the infirmary computers to diagnose the problem and prescribe a course of treatment. Ultimately, his efforts netted little more than speculation – accurate speculation, as he later found out when Radek reported how he'd resolved the crisis, but speculation all the same. From the infirmary Rodney could not access the systems he needed to effect change, and the thick outer doors were impassable.

The ring weighed him down as he worked, and conflicting desires warred in him: Ask her now and ruin the perfect evening he had planned or hold out in hope of rescue and risk her never knowing. His pessimistic streak took hold, and he knew beyond doubt they were going to die, that – for all his vaunted intelligence – he couldn't save the person who mattered most to him. Nothing Jennifer said to the contrary could convince him, and he snapped at her more harshly than he ever had when she tried.

The attack came without warning and had him on the floor clutching his chest. Jennifer handled it like a pro, and if ever he questioned her ability to treat and date him at the same time, his doubt vanished that day. He thought he was having a heart attack, but Jennifer talked him down, loosened his clothing, stroked his temple and tummy, murmured words of love and support.

Along the way she found the ring, and when the crisis was over and he tried to explain he wasn't good enough to ask for her hand, she was having none of it.

"Yes," she told him. "I'm saying yes."

"I'm not asking," had been his response.

"Too bad. I'm answering."

"You can't do that."

"I am, and I'm telling everyone we're engaged. If I have to send back to Earth for my own ring, I will."

The sheer audacity of the woman had him speechless, but she went on. He'd never forget those words. They were a comfort even now as he lay spread-eagle on the floor, knowing every second he took to restore his calm was a second Control could be using to trace his subcutaneous emergency transponder.

_I accept you as you are._ His breathing normalized. _More than that, I love you for it._ He rolled over and rose onto all fours. _You want to improve yourself?_ He stood and shuffled forward on legs of jelly, stumbled. _Great, but don't think you have to to be _worthy_ of me._ He stood again and settled into a determined gait. _Now, are you going to ask me properly, or do I need to wrestle that ring away from you? Don't think I won't._

What could he do then but drop to one knee? What could he do now but whatever it took to save her?

His destination was Auxiliary Science Lab Eight. A long term experiment being conducted there had the unintended side effect of interfering with their transponders. Citywide sensors could not detect him there, and unless an overworked Radek Zelenka made the connection, the lab would provide the safe haven Rodney needed to work.

He logged on to the network using a dummy ID and transferred the programs from his tablet. The first would mask the power drain on the ZedPM; the second should boost the range of the lab's transmitter and enable the radio he'd surreptitiously slipped over Jennifer's ear to function. Before _his_ radio had been taken away, Rodney intended to keep in touch with her while they were separated.

_Thank you for that idea, John Sheppard._

Feedback had Rodney ripping off his radio when he activated the transmitter. He made an adjustment and tried again. "Jennifer, can you hear me?"

"Rodney?" The voice warbled over the tiny speaker, but it was assuredly hers.

"It's me, honey." It was difficult to keep the despair out of his voice. "How you doing?"

"Are you telling me goodbye?"

"What? No, I am not," he snapped. "Don't you think that for a moment. Carson is, like, minutes away from a cure. You just hang tight. We're going to beat this."

For a moment she didn't answer. Then, "It's getting harder to think, sweetie. And the other person is telling me to sleep."

The mention of another person threw him, and he wondered if Woolsey had allowed a nurse to remain and keep her company. It seemed unlikely. "Who's there, Jennifer? Is it Marie? Doctor Cole?"

"Can't turn my head, don't know who. She says to sleep."

"Maybe rest is a good idea? Like fighting off a fever?"

"I don't think I'll wake up. I'm afraid, Rodney."

Her voice was so low he had to move away from the loud equipment to hear. _Won't wake up?_ "Then you stay with me, Jennifer. Listen to the sound of my voice, and we will get through this together."

"I love you, Rodney. Glad we got the chance to...say goodbye."

"Jennifer, I told you no goodbyes. Jennifer? Jennifer!"

The tightness in his chest returned, and Rodney felt the weight of his staffer's punch on his jaw, the corporal's grip on his ankle, the assorted bumps and bruises from the last half hour, and the sting of stale air from the biohazard suit in his lungs. He slumped to the floor. "Please, Jennifer, don't leave me."

He expected static over the line, some signal of finality. Instead, he heard a sound that would haunt him for the rest of his days. In an over-modulated, Wraith-like voice, the woman he cared for above all others said, "Sweetheart, I'm not Jennifer Keller anymore."

_**To be continued**_

_**Thanks for reading. Reviews are appreciated.**_


	3. Part 3: An Impromptu Surgery

**Thanks to those who reviewed Chapter 2: Chasing Liquor, DanielWhite, DaniWilder, **and **ElisaD263. **This chapter is dedicated to Chasing Liquor as thanks for two very nice reviews. Thanks also go out to DaniWilder for advice and insight regarding the first part of the chapter. If McKay seems a little frantic herein, that's because he is.

**Note:** Some dialogue adapted from the SGA episode "The Seed."

**Disclaimer: **MGM owns SGA; I do not.

**Stargate: Atlantis**

**Aftermath: The Seed**

**by koinekid**

"McKay, this is Sheppard. Come in."

Rodney had been aware of the colonel's voice droning on over the radio for a while. How long, Rodney didn't know. Time had ceased to hold meaning. "Shut up, John. I'm talking to..." He paused. "What's your name again, sweetheart?"

The over-modulated voice replied, "I have no designation yet. I'll be given one when I'm complete."

"She doesn't have a name yet, John. It used to be Jennifer, but not anymore."

"Tell me where you are, Rodney. I'll come get you."

"Hell, John. I'm in hell, but you can't come because you're confined to quarters." Rodney laughed. The sound disturbed him. "Though I guess that didn't stop _me_."

"I'm in the infirmary, Rodney, where Woolsey was having us transferred before you shot him. Why don't you make your way to me?"

Rodney chuckled. If he regretted anything at the end of the day, shooting Woolsey would not be it. "The infirmary, eh? Did I tell you that's where I proposed? I wonder if the wedding is still on. Hey, no name—"

"McKay, I need you to focus," Sheppard growled. "Can Keller hear me over your radio?"

Rodney asked. "She says no, but I'm not sure I'd trust her. She doesn't even know her own name."

"Listen—"

"Hey, with Woolsey out, you're in charge." Rodney snapped his fingers. "You can let me back into the isolation room."

"I'm not doing that."

"Where's the harm? Someone else is already in there with her."

"No one's there, Rodney. We evacuated the building."

"You're wrong, John. Jennifer _said _someone was with her right before she..." Rodney trailed off as the tumblers of clarity fell into place. _Oh, God._

"Right before what?"

"Before she said she wasn't Jennifer anymore. Look, John, I have to go." Ignoring Sheppard's protests, Rodney clicked off the radio. Words from long ago came back to him. Though he heard them in Sheppard's voice, Rodney doubted Sheppard nor anyone else ever said them. They were part of an oxygen-deprived delusion Rodney experienced while fighting for his life. _You're the one Jennifer loves. This is _your _responsibility. _Like before, he shouldered it gladly.

A sweep of his arm cleared the nearest workstation. More than a few expensive electronics clattered to the floor, but Rodney barely noticed. He ransacked the lab's storage lockers and organized what he found atop the station.

"McKay to Beckett."

While awaiting the physician's response, Rodney transferred most of his supplies into an assault pack. The stunner, the tablet and the first-aid kit remained on the workstation. He'd carry the first two by hand; the last he'd use before he left.

"What is it, Rodney?" Carson said at last. "I'm under the gun here."

_Literally, I'll bet. _"How close are you to a cure?" When the physician sighed, Rodney's heart dropped into his gut. "That far away?"

Carson gentled his tone. "No, the phage is ready. It's a virus that _should _attack and eliminate the pathogen in Jennifer's bloodstream."

"Then what are you waiting for?" Rodney said. "Use it."

"The phage is untested. It could cure her, or it could accelerate the pathogen's growth. If that should happen—"

"She'll die."

"Aye," Carson said. "And the newly formed hive ship in her place will lead any Wraith in sensor range straight to our door. We cannot take that risk."

"So, test it." Rodney tried to keep the exasperation out of his voice. Anyone working on Jennifer's behalf deserved special consideration today, but Carson was pushing it.

"It's not that simple," Carson said. "The tissue cultures we harvested from Jennifer are responding as we hoped, but we cannot know how her _entire body _will respond until we test the phage on an _entire body_."

"You need a volunteer."

"Aye. Why don't you—?"

"You know, I would, Carson, if I believed for a moment you weren't putting me on."

Carson's voice quavered. "What are you're going on about?"

"Sheppard's in the infirmary with you, and he wants me back there, right?" Rodney unzipped the first-aid kit. How thoroughly it had been stocked surprised him until he checked the inspection tag. The neatly printed initials read: _JK_.

"One problem," Rodney continued. "Sheppard and Ronon are infected too. You don't need me."

"Colonel Sheppard is acting commander of this base," Carson said.

"And he might be compromised by the virus." Rodney doffed his jacket and wiped down his left forearm with an alcohol swab. "You should get the acting head of medicine to declare him medically unfit."

"But—"

"And Ronon has been nursing a crush on my fiancée for months. Don't tell me he won't consent."

"He volunteered actually," Carson replied. "But growing up in this galaxy has affected his physiology in ways we don't fully understand. For this test to have any value, the subject has to be from Earth. Short of exposing another person to the pathogen – which is out of the question – you're our best bet."

"Sheppard it is, then." Rodney tore open two packets of Extra Strength Tylenol, swallowed three of the pills, and allowed the fourth to dissolve under his tongue. The taste made him cringe. "Do the test, Carson, and don't give up on Jennifer. She never gave up on you. We'll talk soon."

From the first-aid kit Rodney laid out gauze, antibiotic ointment, tweezers, and a scalpel sealed in a plastic sheath. As an afterthought, he removed his earwig. The delicate work ahead would require full concentration.

A year ago, an offhand comment of Sheppard's had prompted Rodney to request a crash course in first aid from the head of medicine. He expected his initial enthusiasm would flag, and he and Jennifer would spend most of their sessions playing doctor. Instead, her exuberance proved so infectious that Rodney found himself studying anatomy and physiology in his off time just to impress her.

The way her eyes lit up when he inquired about the difference between an Avulsion fracture and a Salter-Harris or demonstrated his mastery of CPR on the practice dummy justified every second spent immersed in a subject he once openly mocked. Unfortunately, Rodney let his studies lapse once their formal sessions ended.

Time to see how much he remembered.

Running his fingers along the underside of his left forearm revealed the location of a tiny, discolored bump: his emergency transponder. If he wanted to move about freely in the city, it had to come out.

The kit had been stocked with a pneumatic tourniquet, similar in design and function to a blood pressure cuff. If applied correctly, the tourniquet would cut off blood flow to the rest of his arm and give him a blood-free operating environment. Rodney wrapped it around his left bicep and squeezed the pump until the fingers below throbbed.

Satisfied, he broke the safety seal on the scalpel. Blade flush against his skin, heartbeat thundering in his ears, Rodney sliced.

What blood there was, he soaked up with gauze. Tweezers replaced the scalpel and sank into his flesh, widening the incision and causing him to whimper embarrassingly. Rapid, shallow breathing helped, but not much. It would be a while before those painkillers kicked in.

Sweat slicked his fingers, and despite their textured grip, the tweezers slipped. They sprang open, tearing flesh and doubling the size of the incision. Rodney let out a howl of pain. Instinct demanded he clutch the injured limb to his chest and race to the infirmary for help.

"Damn you, McKay," he growled through clenched teeth. "You don't have time for this."

The moment you cut off circulation to a limb, it starts to die. _Necrosis _was the term Jennifer used. She'd hesitated to include tourniquet application as part of his training since _every time you use one, you risk losing the limb_. But include it she had for the sake of being thorough. And because how Rodney utilized his new skill set reflected on his teacher.

He found that streak of arrogance – so unlike her – so endearing it made him want to kiss her. Harsh taskmistress that she was, she denied him until the lesson was over.

"That's it," Rodney told himself. "Focus on the good memories, not the fact that Jennifer's life is on the line."

He reinserted the tweezers, probing the innards of his arm until he located the transponder, a metallic cylinder three quarters of an inch long. Gently, he tugged it free.

By now, his arm was throbbing so much he could see tremors pass through it. The incision needed stitches, but Rodney lacked both the training and the time. So, he squeezed the wound together, applied a healthy does of triple antibiotic ointment, and bandaged it.

Pinpricks raced down his arm and along his fingers when he opened the pressure valve and released the tourniquet. It was a good kind of pain, though. It told him he was still alive.

* * *

Light streamed through the window as Rodney passed by, and though he tried to resist, the temptation to glance toward Jennifer's isolation suite proved too powerful. He wished it hadn't. The mass of tendrils spilling out from the hole in the building had doubled in size in the last hour. As he watched, another tendril sprang from within, dislodging a sizable chunk of masonry in its rush to join its sisters basking in the sun's golden glow.

At this rate Jennifer didn't have long. Hours at most. Tested or not, Carson's phage was her only chance. But obtaining it would be no easy task. With the exception of the military barracks, no part of Atlantis teemed more heavily with soldiers than the Tower. And that's exactly where the infirmary was located.

To clear the area, to make infiltration even slightly possible, Rodney needed a diversion – something that would force Sheppard to dispatch a large number of soldiers to investigate. A dozen or a hundred Rodney McKays popping up simultaneously on internal sensors might do the trick. Cloning his transponder signal would be easy enough.

Rodney shook his head. Sheppard would see through such a blatant attempt at subterfuge and strengthen his position. Especially if the targets were stationary. A McKay on the move might work, or better yet three. Three phantom McKays could lead a whole gaggle of soldiers on a wild goose chase across the city. And Sheppard would probably assume one of the fakes was real, leaving the genuine article time to slip past their defenses.

Programming for a moving target would take longer than for a stationary one, but Rodney could see no alternative. Securing the phage was his top priority. He supposed he could turn himself in, trusting that Carson's offer to use him as a test subject was genuine. But if Carson judged the test a failure and refused to administer the phage to Jennifer, her fate would be sealed. That decided it. Dropping his pack, Rodney settled onto the floor and opened the text editor on his tablet. That's when everything went black.

Sunlight shining through the window kept Rodney from noticing the power outage for several minutes. Only when his eyes drifted to the ceiling as he tried to remember the syntax for a particular expression, did he discover that the overhead lights were out. He tried accessing the network. Nothing. He tapped his radio. "McKay to Sheppard. McKay to Beckett." Silence.

_Shit. _Control's reason for cutting power was not difficult to discern. One of the city's main power conduits ran under the building that housed the isolation suite. To limit the organism's growth, they needed to eliminate its food source. The only way to do that would be to cut power to the entire city by removing the ZedPM. He'd suggested that very idea to Teyla as a way to keep Woolsey busy.

That they were just now following Rodney's advice did not bode well. It meant they were finally viewing the organism – and, by extension, Jennifer – as a threat. As much as Rodney respected the members of the military who lived and worked in Atlantis, he knew all too well military protocol for dealing with threats.

He had to get to Jennifer. Now. He abandoned his coding and set the tablet aside.

Doubtless, backup generators were powering the city's vital systems, but transporters weren't considered vital. So, Rodney needed an alternate power source. Lab 8 had its own backup naqahdah generator. He'd installed it himself to preserve the integrity of the long-term experiments in case of power loss. Disconnecting it meant losing six months' work.

Rodney didn't think twice. He'd just set the generator down and popped the wall panel to start rewiring when the transporter powered up of its own accord. Visions of a dozen Marines packed inside the two-man transporter filled his head. He barely had time to mutter a curse, much less draw his stunner, before the doors opened and he found himself staring into the business end of an energy gun.

"Ronon," he said, "let me explain."

* * *

The Satedan narrowed his eyes in silent appraisal. They were gunfighter's eyes, taking in the whole situation at a glance while alert to his opponent's slightest twitch. Rodney didn't stand a chance. He reached for the stunner, anyway, tucked into the back of his waistband. For Jennifer's sake, he had to try.

"Ronon, please. Let me explain."

To Rodney's shock, Ronon holstered his weapon. "I'm here to help."

Rodney sagged. Finally an ally. "Okay, how?"

"With this." Grinning smugly, Ronon reached into his pocket and withdrew a hypodermic injector. "I figure if I help you save her, Jennifer will come to her senses and drop your sorry butt for mine."

Rodney was too busy staring at the hypo to process the joke. For the first time in hours, he indulged in an emotion that deserted him the moment he saw Jennifer wrapped in that disgusting cocoon: hope. "Is that Carson's phage?"

"Aye, Rodney, it is."

From within the transporter emerged Carson Beckett himself. Rodney shook his head. Two allies? Dare he hope Sheppard and Teyla had tagged along?

"But I thought the phage was untested," Rodney said.

Carson smiled. "Not anymore. Colonel Sheppard volunteered. Turns out you can be quite persuasive, Rodney."

"If it's ready," Rodney said, "why are you wasting your time with me?"

"Ronon insisted." Carson eyed the gun on the Satedan's hip. "He too can be persuasive."

Ronon shrugged. "Jennifer's your woman. You have a right to go with us."

"Us?"

"Listen, Rodney," Carson said. "We don't have much time. The organism has covered most of Jennifer's body by now, so you'll have to inject the phage into her neck—very risky under the best of circumstances. Go for the vein right here." Carson touched the side of his neck to demonstrate, then the same spot on Rodney's. "Feel that?"

Rodney nodded.

"Be extremely careful. If you hit Jennifer's carotid artery, you could kill her."

"Then why don't _you_ do it?" Rodney said.

"Aye, that's the plan, but if I don't make it—" Carson cried out and crumpled to the floor.

Rodney jerked the stunner from his waistband. Before he could take aim, Ronon slapped it away and slammed him against the wall. Desperate, Rodney drove a knee into the Satedan's gut. Ronon absorbed the blow without flinching.

"McKay, calm down."

"Or what? You'll shoot me too?"

"I just saved Carson's life," Ronon growled. "Those tendrils have attacked everyone that's come near them. Carson thinks you and I might stand a chance because we've got the same virus."

"And Carson doesn't," Rodney realized. "But he was willing to try anyway. For Jennifer."

Ronon nodded. "He said he wouldn't give up on her since _she never gave up on him_."

The words hit home, and Rodney stopped struggling. "All right, Ronon. You made the right call. Now let's go."

_**To be continued**_

_**Thanks for reading. Reviews are appreciated.**_


	4. Part 4: The Dysphoric Duo

**Disclaimer: **MGM owns SGA; KOI does NOT.

**Note: **Injuries are described a tad graphically. Ye of delicate constitutions, be warned.

**Note 2: **Part Three has been revised. If you don't want to reread, then you need to know:

_**The Story So Far...**_

_Jennifer Keller is alone in isolation, stricken with a virus that is using her body to grow a Wraith hive ship. Other expedition members are also infected but are not yet showing symptoms. Among the infected is her fiancé, Rodney McKay._

_Having escaped custody, Rodney is hiding out in a remote part of Atlantis where internal sensors cannot detect him and where he can maintain radio contact with Jennifer, who claims she is no longer alone. Someone or something is with her in isolation. When she succumbs to its insistence that she sleep, another voice replaces hers on the radio, declaring that she "isn't Jennifer Keller anymore."_

_Reeling from this declaration, Rodney decides he must save his fiancée at all costs. Learning of a possible cure, a phage developed by Carson Beckett, Rodney works out a plan to infiltrate the infirmary and steal it. While he's preparing, though, citywide power is taken offline. Robbed of network access, he's forced to abandon his plan._

_Shortly thereafter, two allies arrive bearing a gift. Ronon Dex and Carson Beckett, as determined to save Jennifer as he is, have brought him the phage. No sooner has Carson explained how to administer it than he is shot by Ronon._

_After a brief struggle with Rodney, Ronon explains himself: He stunned Carson to protect him. The Wraith tendrils in the isolation room are attacking anyone who gets near. Only those who are infected – like Rodney and Ronon – might stand a chance. Though he knew it likely meant his death, the uninfected Carson insisted on going with them._

_Rodney agrees that Ronon made the right call, and the two set out to rescue Jennifer before her time runs out._

**Stargate: Atlantis**

**Aftermath: The Seed**

**by koinekid**

Sparks from the exploding touchscreen singed holes in Rodney's jacket. He recoiled, and in his haste to escape the transporter, clipped the partially-open doors. "What the hell was that?"

Ronon lowered his gun. "We don't want anyone following us."

"I could have disabled the controls."

"I just did." Ronon grinned.

"Well, give a guy some warning next time. I almost dropped the generator on my foot." Setting down the assault pack which contained the heavy piece of equipment, Rodney checked his jacket for burning embers. He found none, but discovered that blood had seeped through the bandage on his arm and stained his sleeve. He shot the Satedan a dirty look. "How'd you find me anyway?"

"Followed your transponder signal."

"Impossible. I removed it." Rodney peeled back his sleeve. His arm looked a mess, but he could do nothing about it. In making room for the generator, he'd dumped most of his supplies including the extra bandages. And the painkillers.

"Your signal was gone, then it came back." Ronon shrugged. "Thought it was probably a trick, but I owed it to you to take the chance."

"I'm glad you did." Rodney thought he had the chain of events figure out. After extracting the transponder, he'd neglected to destroy it. Disconnecting the generator had disabled the equipment masking the transponder's signal. He wagered it was still transmitting back in Science Lab 8.

Had that mistake not resulted in him getting his hands on the phage, Rodney would be kicking himself. It could as easily have gone the other way with Sheppard's marines 'porting in and dragging Rodney off to the brig. When Ronon and Carson arrived, Rodney assumed _they _were operating on Sheppard's behalf. Apparently not, if Ronon's stunt with the transporter was an indication.

Rodney fitted his sleeve into place. "Ronon, you said you _owed_ it to me to pick me up. What did you mean?"

An uncomfortable silence filled the hall for so long that Rodney decided it was time to go and hefted the assault pack onto his shoulder. When Ronon finally spoke, only the gravel in his voice allowed him to be heard. "I had a woman once."

"Shocking," Rodney quipped. No doubt Ronon, with his chiseled features and lifeguard's physique, had plenty of women over the years.

"A _special_ woman, McKay. Jennifer reminds me of her."

Rodney frowned at that.

"Stubborn, headstrong, self-sacrificing." The memory brought a smile to Ronon's face. It quickly faded. "She died while my unit was deployed. Every morning I wake up, and I curse the names of those soldiers who should have protected her. Then I curse my own for not being there. No one should have to live with that, McKay." A ghost of a smile reappeared. "Not even you."

Rodney's frown deepened, and he shook his head angrily. "Jennifer isn't going to die."

"No," Ronon agreed, quickly sobering. "Not if we have anything to say about it."

* * *

They advanced down the hall unchecked for the first fifteen meters. Occasionally a tendril would slither across Rodney's boot or rise from the floor as if curious about the visitors and swivel in their direction. When a tendril descended from the ceiling to perch on his shoulder, Rodney froze.

The ting of sword escaping sheath restored his senses, and he raised a hand to wave off Ronon's help.

The tendril crept across Rodney's throat and climbed his chin, stopping to tickle the spot beneath his lip where Jennifer liked to plant teasing kisses. In another moment the tendril unraveled itself. Dropping to the floor, it resumed its slow crawl to freedom.

"Carson was right. They don't see us as a threat." Brimming with confidence, Rodney pressed forward.

Twenty meters more, and they reached a clot of tendrils so thick it blocked their way. Rodney had taken a utility knife from the lab. With its blade retracted, he probed for weak spots among the densely-packed fibers. Confronted with similar impediments earlier, he and Ronon had been able to find gaps to squeeze through with minimal disturbance to the surrounding growth. Not this time; these tendrils had fused together to produce a thick protective shell. Rodney's heart beat faster with the realization that they must be getting close.

Extending the blade, he made an experimental slice. From the incision dribbled a foul-smelling resin. It congealed around the blade and rendered it all but useless. In order to pierce through to the other side, he needed to make deep, excavatory cuts in the thickly-layered tendrils. As he sawed at them with the blunted blade, he released more and more of the viscous resin. Its stench made him lightheaded.

"Hey!" he cried out as a hand closed around his shoulder. Ronon jerked him aside just in time to avoid impalement. Scores of tendrils on the walls, floor, and ceiling reared up like coiled cobras ready to stroke. Their in-tandem swaying worsened Rodney's vertigo, and he closed his eyes to avoid being sick.

"Stay with me, McKay."

Ronon shaking him made Rodney's nausea spike. He pushed the Satedan away.

"Get ready."

"For what?" Rodney snapped. The smell clung to him. He breathed through his mouth to try and avoid it.

"This." Ronon hacked through the clotted tendrils. In three neat strokes, he carved a breach big enough to squeeze through. "Go!"

Rodney crossed the threshold, but a thrashing tendril snagged his pack. He tugged against the stubborn growth.

"Leave it, McKay!"

Hands shaking, Rodney unbuckled the chest strap and waist belt. He tried to twist out of the shoulder straps, but the tendril pulled them taut against his shoulders. There wasn't slack enough to wedge a hand through. The utility knife might have been useful, but he'd dropped it.

Turning back to shout his predicament, Rodney was confronted with a monster tendril, its tip worked to a fine, spear-like point. As if shot from a cannon, the organic javelin thrust toward him.

Rodney grabbed the end of the left shoulder strap and yanked it through the ladder lock securing it to the pack's body. The strap hung loose and freed one arm. Before he could reach the other strap, an impact drove the air from his lungs.

He heard a gasp. Not his own. Without having to look back, Rodney knew what had happened. The impact he felt had been too evenly distributed across his back to have resulted from a single, sharp point of contact.

"Ronon?"

Freeing himself from the last strap, Rodney knelt and reached through the breach to check his friend's pulse. Weak, and his breathing shaky, Ronon's body convulsed with a suddenness that had Rodney scooting away.

Bracing himself, Rodney crawled back. Hesitantly he poked his head through the breach. Hypoglycemic or not, he was glad he'd skipped lunch. The tendril piercing Ronon's side had caught on something within, and in struggling to free itself, it pulled at his torso like a meat hook.

Its jostling roused the Satedan. Growling, he seized the tendril in a steely grip and severed it with one clean stroke of his sword. The tendril fell away, flopping and spewing resin. The piece still embedded in his flesh, a surgeon would need to remove.

A quick survey found the remaining tendrils in a holding pattern, neither advancing nor retreating. How long that would last, Rodney could not predict. The only active tendrils were the ones clawing at his assault pack. Before his courage failed him, Rodney stood, unzipped the pack, and reclaimed the generator. The pack fell a moment later, dropped by the tendrils or released.

Through the breach Rodney squeezed Ronon's shoulder. "Can you stand?"

Ronon snorted his laughter.

"Come on," Rodney said. "I'm not leaving you here."

"I would."

"What?"

The isolation suite was now in sight on Rodney's side of the barrier. The tendrils separating him from Jennifer's room were thick but not impassable. He could make it, but—_damn it_—he couldn't leave a friend to die.

"If Melena were on the other side of that door, I'd leave you. Wouldn't think twice."

"Melena? That was your…uh…" Rodney hesitated to use the term.

"My woman." Ronon nodded. "_Your_ woman needs you, McKay."

"But—"

"Jennifer is all that matters." Ronon knotted Rodney's collar in his fist and yanked the scientist close. "If you value _anything_ more than Jennifer, you don't deserve her." He gave a shove that knocked Rodney on his butt. "Now, go!"

Without another word, Rodney obeyed.

* * *

In Atlantis' heyday its power conduits churned with the collective energy of three fully-charged zero-point modules. So abundant was this power supply that its excess was used to automate the simplest of daily tasks. When at full power, the city functioned brilliantly. But when power became scarce, those simple tasks became impossible. It was a major design flaw that, after four years of running the city under less than optimal conditions, Rodney McKay knew all too well.

_Case in point, _Rodney thought, _no doorknobs._ He popped the wall panel next to the door and began manipulating the control crystals within. His fingers moved with a dexterity born of confidence and practice; he was in his element. Such as it was.

Hours ago, Rodney voluntarily exited through this door when every instinct screamed at him to stay. Jennifer's gentle _you go on_ joined with his own hubris to assuage his guilt then. That he thought his scientific acumen capable of doing anything to combat her serious medical problem shamed him.

_There's probably still some good I can do for you on the outside,_ he had said. _Ha!_ No matter what he accomplished beyond this door, Rodney knew who was the real hero of the day: Doctor Carson Beckett, the physician who had developed the phage.

Though the naqahdah generator at his side remained deactivated, tendrils still crept toward it. Rodney expected they would swarm over it once he turned it on, but the possibility of their identifying it as a potential food source while inactive hadn't occurred to him. It should have.

The organism was using Jennifer's brain. Of course it could identify a generator, and having done so, determine to secure it at all costs. Even at the cost of destroying two of its fellow hive-ships-to-be. It made sense. The virus must have evolved or been engineered to quite literally lust for power. It was survival of the fittest at its best.

If he was right, then the tendril that felled Ronon had almost certainly been after the generator as well. At the time Rodney assumed its sole motivation to be the organism's defense. It was a logical conclusion. He and Ronon had been attacking, and Rodney was covered in the sticky resin that acted as the organism's lifeblood.

Noticing how close the tendrils had gotten, and mindful that he was still covered in their blood, Rodney sped up his rewiring. Crossing his fingers, he started the generator. The door sensor lit up. For a split second he wondered if the door would recognize his authorization to enter or if Control or the medical team had locked him out.

The door opened. Rodney breathed a sigh of relief.

Beyond the threshold he hesitated. Remembering Jennifer's appearance on the video feed still made him shudder, and Carson said time had only worsened her condition. No matter how this infection altered her appearance, Rodney would not think her ugly. _Jennifer Keller_ and _ugly_ were so far removed as concepts in his mind as to be irreconcilable. In a Venn diagram they were two circles with no overlap. In his more poetic moods he defined beauty as everything Jennifer was and ugliness as everything she wasn't. The one time he said that aloud, she burst into laughter. He longed to hear that sound again.

No, he wouldn't think her ugly, but the image of her suffering would etch itself into his memory to be cataloged with all the others. Sometimes in the right light, Rodney was convinced he could see the scars of long-healed injuries materialize on her face and body. At such times he wanted to take her in his arms and hold her for hours, but didn't for fear of having to explain why.

He shook his head. That was his problem. Jennifer, his woman, needed him.

The interior light was low, and Jennifer did indeed look horrific. But her appearance was not what sent Rodney's heart into his throat. As he approached the bed they made love in two nights ago, now overflowing with and straining under the weight of the heavy cocoon, Rodney heard a crackle over his headset. Assuming Sheppard was calling to bawl him out, Rodney reached up to turn off the radio. Sheppard's was not the voice he heard.

"Sweetheart, did you bring me a treat?"

Tremors seized Rodney's hand, thwarting his attempts to press the radio's talk button. "Honey?"

"So, you _are_ speaking to me?" A hint of amusement ran through the over-modulated voice. "The naqahdah is wonderful. Can you get more?"

Back in the lab, Rodney had convinced himself that the tinniness in Jennifer's voice was an artifact of his modified transmitter or that the stun blast had damaged the radio he lifted from Corporal Watkins. Neither, it seemed, was true. From her very lips, Jennifer spoke with the cold, lifeless voice of a Wraith.

As his fingers curled around the hypodermic injector in his pocket, Rodney faced the distinct possibility that the cure had arrived too late.

_**To be continued.**_

_**Thanks for reading. Reviews are appreciated.**_


	5. Part 5a: Endgame

**Disclaimer: **MGM owns SGA; KOI does NOT.

**Stargate: Atlantis**

**Aftermath: The Seed**

**by koinekid**

Around the bed, tendrils bristled like the trigger hairs on a Venus Flytrap. Rodney stepped carefully to avoid disturbing them. Hard pressed to find a clear path, his boot nudged a thick clot of fused organic matter. A tendril struck back, scoring the leather over his steel toe before catching in his shoelace. He knelt and worked it loose.

Jennifer's eyes fluttered, then opened. Glassy and lethargic, they strained to track his movement. He stood slowly, raising his hands to show that he meant no harm.

Breath hitched in his throat. Could it be?

"Jennifer?"

"I told you, sweetie," she answered in her distorted voice. "I have no designation. I'll be given one—"

"When you're complete." Rodney sighed. He'd hoped to rouse her and steal a moment before injecting the phage. In case it failed.

He closed the distance between them.

"So will you," she insisted. "Then we'll travel the stars together."

"Hive ships don't travel in pairs. Pickings are too slim."

"No matter where we are, we'll be together. Through subspace, we'll be connected more deeply than these fragile bodies could ever allow." Her eyes moved rapidly, regaining acuity. "Even this crude speech won't be necessary."

Rodney snorted. "You know how much I enjoy hearing myself talk."

"I _know_ how much trouble you have expressing yourself. There are things you wish to say to my host if only you had the words. Soon, you won't need them."

"Jen—" He caught himself.

"All right," she said indulgently. "Until I receive my designation, you can call me Jennifer."

"How generous," he muttered.

She looked hurt, or annoyed. It was hard to tell with her sometimes.

Without thinking, he reached out to give comfort. She tensed. Nearby tendrils stirred.

Moments passed as his thumb caressed her cheek. He wanted to jerk his hand back but forced it to stay put. If he drew away, he wouldn't get another chance.

Finally she relaxed, though the tendrils remained on alert, silent guardians protecting their mistress from harm.

He traced a line down her cheek, over her bottom lip. Along her throat, he located the spot Carson had indicated as the ideal injection point. By now the cocooning process was nearly complete. Wispy fibers crept along the surface of her neck to just below where his fingers rested. Another few minutes—

"What are you doing, _sweetie_?"

Rodney had allowed his touch to linger. With access to Jennifer's memories, the other consciousness would recognize the significance of his touch and the expression that went with it.

Leaning close, he whispered, "I'm accepting the inevitable."

Confusion crinkled her brow.

_Good._

"This transformation is going to happen. We will travel the stars." He licked his lips. "But I'll miss this, touching you."

"What we'll share is so far beyond—"

"I understand that. But surely one last kiss isn't too much to ask."

She started to protest, then softened. Ever so subtly, she nodded.

His lips molded to hers, eliciting a gasp. Before, all she had were memories. But to feel the actual pleasure of a kiss surge through her was something else entirely.

He coaxed her lips open. She moaned, a sound so uniquely Jennifer that his resolve nearly buckled. He remembered their first kiss, their second. That evening charted a new course for his life. He'd be damned if he saw it end this way.

As the kiss deepened, he retrieved the hypodermic from his pocket. She stiffened when his hand returned to her throat. He poured his heart into the kiss, nibbled her bottom lip. The distraction worked. She melted.

The kiss ended abruptly when he pressed the needle to her skin. Her eyes widened. Her lips curled into a snarl. And before he could trigger the phage's release, his legs collapsed beneath him.

The building shuddered as if struck by a missile. Or a drone.

_Sheppard._

Rodney hit his radio. "McKay to Sheppard. John? Damn it, John, stop this!"

Scrambling to his feet, Rodney lunged for the bed. A tendril missed taking off his head by inches. All around him tendrils whipped about in a frenzy. Like a cornered animal, the organism was lashing out at anything that moved.

He reached across her body to retrieve the hypo, and a tendril sliced through his jacket and opened a gash on his forearm. He winced. "Jennifer, calm down! Please, it's me, it's Rodney."

Her eyes met his, and some of the ferocity drained. Not for long. She let out a feral growl as something beyond him caught her gaze.

Rodney seized the moment. Not bothering to look back he also seized the hypo, pressed it to her throat, and triggered the plunger. The hiss of the phage releasing was the sweetest sound he'd ever heard—much nicer than the sickening crunch behind him.

Just like that it was over.

Tendrils dropped lifeless to the floor.

The light started to go out of Jennifer's eyes. She looked to Rodney, silently pleading.

_It's the organism dying,_ Rodney reminded himself. _Not her._ Still, he turned away, unable to bear the sight. When her head slumped back, he felt for a pulse. Strong, steady. She was alive.

"Thank you," he whispered. "Thank you."

He had no way of knowing how much damage there would be, physically or psychologically. However much, he would see her through it. Of that, there was no question.

Low moaning drew his attention. Giving Jennifer one final check, he glanced over his shoulder. John Sheppard, impaled on a tendril, slumped to the floor, a pool of blood forming rapidly beneath him.

"Medical teams to the isolation suite," Rodney all but shouted into his radio. "And for God's sake hurry."

_**To be continued**_

_**Thanks for reading; reviews are appreciated.**_


	6. Part 5b: Endgame

**Disclaimer: **MGM owns SGA; KOI does NOT.

_Yes, lads and ladies, it's the second update in two days. With an epilogue to follow before the week is out. Enjoy._

**Stargate: Atlantis**

**Aftermath: The Seed**

**by koinekid**

The medical teams soon arrived, led by Carson Beckett. Woozy still from Ronon's stun blast, he didn't trust himself to see to the more serious casualties. But he felt no compunction about jabbing a hypo into Rodney's arm and dosing him with the same phage that had cured Jennifer. The physician took perverse glee in the scientist's grunt of pain.

"You do know that _Ronon_ shot you, right? It wasn't me."

Carson's face fell at the mention of the Satedan.

Rodney sobered. "Is he…?"

"Too soon to tell. He's headed into surgery now."

"What about Sheppard?" Rodney had done what he could for the colonel while waiting on help to arrive. In an effort to reach Jennifer before drastic measures had to be taken, Sheppard crashed a jumper into the building. Rodney was grateful, but when he went to retrieve the jumper's first-aid kit, he also found an open weapon case. Upon returning to the isolation room, he spotted a 9mm handgun among the withering tendrils on the floor. Neither spoke about it. Rodney tried to be rational, but simply knowing that his friend was prepared to kill his fiancee changed his estimation of the man.

Carson shifted position so that Rodney could watch the doctors work on Sheppard. They had cut away the clothing surrounding the impaled tendril and were stabilizing him for transport.

"He's in good hands," Carson said.

Rodney could have pressed for something more specific but let it rest. Until he could walk his fiancee out of isolation, his priorities lay with her.

As it turned out, Jennifer would spend most of the next two weeks in isolation, leaving Rodney with ample time after their daily visits to sort out the damage to his career and check on his friends. Career concerns were the easiest to be quashed. In his official report, Carson theorized that the hive-ship virus compelled those it infected to seek out and protect their fellows. Rodney, Sheppard, and Ronon had each made their way to Jennifer. Even Major Lorne, who'd also been infected, had briefly escaped confinement. Since no one could offer evidence to the contrary, Woolsey had been forced to accept the report and conclude that the infected weren't responsible for their actions. A groveling apology from Rodney helped smooth over any ruffled feathers.

His friends were another matter. Days after surgery, Sheppard was bucking to be released. His doctors finally agreed, provided he confine himself to a wheelchair, whereupon he parked himself by Ronon's bed in the ICU and conducted business from there. The Satedan remained in a coma for ten days. Rodney lost count of the times he crashed and had all but given up on seeing his friend recover. He still visited every day without fail, and on the tenth, Ronon with no fanfare opened his eyes and mumbled something that sounded like _Thumbelina_.

Sheppard was dozing in the other bed, so Rodney fetched the Satedan a drink of water. Hydrated, he repeated, "_Saw_ Melena."

"Oh." Rodney nodded in comprehension. "I hope she told you it wasn't your time."

"Something like that. How's Jennifer?"

"Alive, thanks to you."

"Hope you told her that."

A smile tugged at the corners of Rodney's mouth. "I bested an entire base and took on an alien entity to save _my _woman. I'll take you on if I have to."

Amusement dancing in his eyes, Ronon said, "Be glad you don't."

* * *

Rodney had one more stop before visiting Jennifer that day, a stop he'd put off for too long already. Corporal Eric Watkins did not grow red-faced at his approach. His face was red already. Red and peeling. And blistered. Though the worst of the damage had healed, it would be a while before Eric's good looks made a comeback. Till then, he'd have to rely on his West Texas charm.

By the miserable look on his face, it didn't seem to be working. Once again, Eric was eating alone. Before Rodney could ask, Eric pushed back a chair with his toe. "Have a seat, Doc. I could do with the company."

Rodney resisted the urge to reply, "Much obliged." Doing so annoyed the boy to no end.

"Listen, Eric, I want to—"

"No need to apologize. Doctor Beckett explained about the virus. You couldn't control yourself."

"That's just it. I—" _What? I _could_ control myself. Carson is lying to protect me. _"—feel bad anyway."

"Don't. I've faced worse than a stun blast before and lived to tell the tale. At least I learned something this time."

"Oh?" Rodney said. "What's that?"

Eric grinned wryly. "Never go on guard duty without sunblock."

Rodney chuckled. "You know I make my own?"

"That so?"

"Yeah. I could get you some—"

"Just making conversation, Doc."

"Right."

_**To be concluded**_

_**Thanks for reading; reviews are appreciated.**_


	7. Epilogue

**Disclaimer: **MGM owns SGA; KOI does NOT.

**Stargate: Atlantis**

**Aftermath: The Seed**

**by koinekid**

_**EPILOGUE**_

The last time Rodney visited Chippewa Falls, he offered to stay in a hotel. Mister Keller wouldn't hear of it, not even after he walked in on his daughter and future son-in-law fooling around. Embarrassed or no, Rodney did not intend to repeat the offer this trip. Jennifer needed him close.

One look at his daughter, and Mister Keller agreed. "You're sleeping in her room, boy, if I have to pick you up and carry you there."

Jennifer laughed rarely these days, but she laughed at that. Then she burst into tears and buried her face in her father's chest. She allowed herself to cry for five minutes before regaining composure and blaming her tears on jet lag.

Neither man believed her. Mister Keller knew better, and Rodney knew the truth. Her last good sleep came under heavy sedation, while a surgical team sloughed off the organism and its residue.

Recovery had not come easy. The transformation exacted a physical toll on her body, leaving her feeling stiff, her skin itchy and burning for days afterward. But the psychological effect was even worse.

So, Rodney stepped in. He leveraged his influence, called in favors, and twisted Carson's arm until the physician agreed that a trip home was just what Jennifer needed to hasten her recovery.

Wouldn't you know it? It worked.

Her laughter returned and her smiles grew genuine as Jennifer, her fiancee in tow, revisited her old haunts: the high school where she graduated at fifteen, the park where she taught herself to fly a kite, the bowling alley where Dad never quite managed to bowl a perfect game, even her mother's grave.

Rodney was reluctant to make that visit, fearing that a bout of gloominess would undo Jennifer's progress. While she did not smile for the rest of the day, she awoke the next morning bright and cheerful.

Three days before they were scheduled to return to Atlantis, Jennifer said she was ready to talk about what happened. They told her dad they were taking a walk and not to wait up.

"He will anyway," Jennifer confided.

Rodney knew the man well enough to agree.

They walked in silence, hand in hand for several minutes, neither able to muster the enthusiasm for small talk. Rodney didn't press and was soon rewarded for his patience.

"I remember parts of it," she said, "like fragments of a dream."

She let the statement hang as if unsure how to continue.

"What parts?" Rodney prompted.

"This." She stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, leaned in, and kissed him. It made quite an impression."

His cheeks grew hot. "Is that all?"

"No, I remember saying, 'I'm not Jennifer Keller anymore.' Did I—she—it say that?"

He nodded.

"I think it was onto something. I've been thinking about that a lot this week, and I've come to a conclusion." She placed a hand on his heart and gazed deeply into his eyes. "I don't want to _be _Jennifer Keller anymore."

The street lights glinted off her diamond ring, and in a rare moment of insight, Rodney understood. "You don't want to be Jennifer _Keller_ anymore."

Her smile was the most genuine yet. "Precisely."

"But we're already made plans. Next year—"

"Is not soon enough. Please, Rodney, I need this."

"Jennifer." He wanted to protest the impracticality, the suddenness, the wasted effort of the plans they'd already made. Instead, "Okay. I'll call my sister."

* * *

Four weeks later Rodney entered the Atlantis infirmary and heard, "Doctor McKay, I have those scans for you."

He turned, uncertain why one of Jennifer's nurses would be talking to him about medical scans only to find that she wasn't, in fact, talking to him.

"Thanks, Marie." Jennifer took the proffered tablet and gave the scans a cursory examination. "Everything looks fine. Tell Colonel Sheppard he's free to go."

"You could let him sweat it out," Rodney suggested.

"Very funny, dear." Jennifer kissed him lightly on the lips.

They locked arms and entered the hall, bound for the mess.

"So, Doctor McKay, huh?" Rodney said.

"I gave the staff a week to get used to my new name before heads roll. Most are getting it right away. Not surprising, they're pretty smart."

"You know it wouldn't bother me if you kept your maiden name."

"Are you asking me to keep it?"

"No," Rodney said. "Just saying you have the option. I know you love me, you don't have to take my name to prove it."

"So it's my decision? Good, then the city has two Doctors McKay now." Jennifer grinned wickedly. "Let's hope it's ready for them."

* * *

It was a small affair, their wedding held in a private garden in Vancouver. Small seemed appropriate for them, the way they'd eased almost by accident into a relationship. Flirting had let to friendship, light touches to lasting love. No grand event was needed to prove how much they meant to one another, only a simple ceremony to show their families and to put words to a silent promise each had already made: I'll be here tomorrow.

Initial plans to fly down Jeannie's family and marry in Wisconsin were thwarted by the state's six-day waiting period for marriage licenses. British Columbia had no waiting period. You could apply and marry the same day. They did.

The weather was mercifully dry in a city famous for rain, and at sunset, Mister Keller gave his daughter away to a man who swore to cherish and honor her till his dying day. The best man was a woman, and Jeannie squeezed her brother's hand when she passed him the ring. The flower girl yawned through the ceremony and fell asleep in her mother's lap during dinner.

After the I-thee-weds, Rodney presented Jennifer with a gift, a second set of wedding rings made of black titanium. "For field work," he said. If this struck the marriage commissioner as odd, she didn't say. It struck Jennifer as about the sweetest thing ever.

They both knew the risks inherent in the lives they'd chosen. Danger lurked around every corner in the Pegasus Galaxy: death, injury, capture. And every good kidnapper confiscates his victim's goods. That's why her diamond engagement ring and his Seiko wristwatch never accompanied them off world. And why they'd wear their titanium bands whenever they stepped through the gate from now on, leaving the gold ones behind, locked up in Atlantis, safe and secure as was their love for one another in their hearts.

**The End**

**Thank for reading; reviews are appreciated.**


	8. Addendum Missing Scenes

_I always felt, and readers agreed, that AFS was missing something. Here, then, is that missing section. Only one question remains: Is it arrogant for an author to tag his own story?_

_Thanks to DaniWilder for beta reading the first scene many moons ago.  
_

**Disclamer: **MGM owns SGA; KOI does NOT.

_**ADDENDUM TO**_

**AFTERMATH**

**THE SEED**

**by koinekid**

To all outward appearances, Jennifer recovered quickly. No trace of the entity remained to plague her consciousness, and both Carson and the staff psychiatrist gave her a clean bill of health. All that remained was to wait for the tendrils to slough off on their own. As their first attempt to remove them had nearly sent Jennifer into cardiac arrest, neither Carson nor his patient were eager to tempt fate again.

"I could use the rest," Jennifer joked.

"You'll have plenty during your leave," Carson returned.

Said leave had been strongly "recommended" by the shrink. Normally, Jennifer would have fought it, but truth was, after her ordeal, she just wanted to go home. She smiled up at Carson. "Admit it, you just want your old job back."

The Scotsman broke into a grin. "What I want is to be rid of your fiance for a couple of weeks. Did you see the mess he made of his arm?"

Jennifer nodded solemnly. At least she tried to; the tendrils weighing her down still hampered her movement.

"Of course he wants me to patch him up, all the while he's going on about how medicine isn't _real_ science." Noticing the serious look on Jennifer's face, Carson added, "I'm sure he was just teasing, love."

"I know," Jennifer said, and she did, long before she and Rodney began dating. The medical department still resented the head of science comparing their field to voodoo, and even though he'd apologized for it long ago—to her if not to the department—she still loved to tease him about it. "That's not what bothers me."

"Oh?"

"I don't like that he hurt himself so much to try and save me." Jennifer sighed. "I don't like that so many people risked themselves to save me."

Carson chuckled. "You're one of ours, Jennifer. Of course we'd risk ourselves for you, just as you'd risk yourself for any one of us. As for Rodney—"

The door to the isolation suite swished open just then, and in strolled the man himself. "As for Rodney, what?" he said.

Jennifer's heart sped up as she heard the voice of the man she loved. She strained her neck to see, and he quickly moved closer to save her the effort, reaching through a gap in the tendrils to grasp her hand.

Carson answered, "I was just saying that it's a man's responsibility to risk himself for the woman he loves, especially when she's as lovely as Jennifer."

Rodney extricated his hand long enough to pull up a chair. "Can't argue with that. Right, sweetheart?"

* * *

The worst part of Rodney's daily visits occurred when Carson left them alone. Her dearest had backslidden to his old ways of limiting displays of affection while in the company of others. Such behavior would deserve a scolding under ordinary circumstances, but for now, Jennifer was thankful.

Unknown to all, even the man sitting beside her, the hive ship virus had taken something from her, something she might never recover. Carson took Jennifer's vitals, mumbled something about giving the lovebirds their privacy, and disappeared from view as he moved toward the exit. On high alert, Jennifer listened for the telltale hiss of the door sealing behind him, and braced herself.

Like clockwork, Rodney leaned toward her.

"Don't," she pleaded. Then, as if to soften the blow, added, "Don't look at me."

"Hey, hey," he soothed. "I'm not looking away. I owe you that kiss, right?"

He pressed his lips to hers, but she didn't kiss back. She didn't feel it, hadn't felt much of anything since the virus manifested itself. There were medical reasons, she knew. Undiluted, the pain of tendrils exploding from her abdomen would have sent her body into shock, most likely killing her. Dulling her senses had been a mercy.

But at what cost? The joy of a simple kiss was lost to her. And if the organism had veiled her senses so that a kiss sparked no reaction, what else had it done to her body? What else had it stolen from her?

The night before she awoke covered in tendrils, Rodney had wanted to be intimate. Albeit kindly, she rebuffed him, and now she wondered if she had cheated them both of what could have been their last night of pleasure. And for what? To catch up on paperwork. To get an extra hour of sleep. A sob caught in her throat.

He broke off the kiss and whispered in her ear, "Nothing will ever hurt you again."

It was a promise neither could keep, but it was precious to her, and as the tears fell and Rodney gently wiped them away, she decided, if need be, she would be content with an emotional and mental relationship with the man. Some of the greatest love stories ever told went unconsummated. Hemingway and Dietrich. Heathcliff and Catherine. Vermeer and Griet. Were these loves any less real for being denied physical expression?

Ah, but their love—hers and Rodney's—had been consummated. She could remember his touch, knew well the craving that could suddenly well up inside when sitting across from him in a meeting. She recalled those long nights alone when he was off world and she ached for him. Most of those nights she let herself into his quarters and fell asleep with her nose pressed into his pillow. Only Marie knew about those nights, and only so Jennifer could be contacted in case of an emergency. She certainly never told Rodney. Knowing the depth of his effect on her would have scared the man half to death.

* * *

Carson assured her that sensation would return in time. He'd noticed how upset Rodney's visits made her and threatened to revoke his visiting rights. Jennifer couldn't have that—Rodney was her lifeline. So, she'd broken down and confessed the truth to Carson, endured his well-deserved scolding, and began working toward accepting her disability. If nothing else, it felt good not to be shouldering the burden alone. She was considering taking Marie into her confidence as well.

But not Rodney. At least not yet. Having risked so much, he deserved to recuperate before she foisted this challenge upon him.

The door opened, he entered, and Carson gave her an encouraging nod before making himself scarce.

Giving Rodney the best smile she could manage, Jennifer braced herself for what she knew to expect. Every day he came in and dutifully pressed his lips to hers. After the first few days, she began responding, moving her lips beneath his and playing with the hair on the back of his neck the way he liked. By now the tendrils were receding, and she'd managed to free one of her arms.

She'd already decided to be the passionate and responsive partner Rodney deserved. If she couldn't feel it, she'd fake it, relying on memory to guide her through the proper motions. She consoled herself with the notion that maybe Carson was right. Maybe the sensations would return.

Maybe...

But Carson was seeing through the eyes of a friend. Jennifer was far more pragmatic. There was no guarantee—

"Mmm!"

The taste of cinnamon swirled in her mouth. His gum! She tasted. She felt! Rodney ended the kiss and started to pull away. Jennifer grabbed him by the lapel and pulled him back. She devoured his mouth, caressed his tongue, moaned her joy. It was as if she'd never kissed before.

"Cinnamon?" she asked when they both managed to catch their breath.

He shrugged. "Didn't have any mint." (1)

* * *

Every blessing came with a curse. Now that she knew her relationship with Rodney could and would become physical—very physical—once again, she began to fear the toll the experience would have on her appearance.

One did not inhabit the Pegasus Galaxy without accumulating a collection of scars. She knew and lovingly traced every scar on Rodney's body. Before they began dating, she'd inflicted a few of them herself during surgery.

But it was different. He was a guy. Women were expected to be flawless. Sexist or not, the attitude endured. Though she knew Rodney would never judge her for any lingering scars, she wanted to be beautiful for him. Rodney...he deserved to have a woman on his arm who would draw envious gazes from the colleagues who once mocked him. Jennifer wanted that for him, wanted to _be_ that for him.

She learned in passing that a small group of nurses had begun praying for her. Rather than roll her eyes, the knowledge warmed her heart, and though she would never admit to it, more than once during her recovery, she whispered a prayer herself.

As the weeks passed and the tendrils withered, the blotches faded, and she could at last stand to see herself in a mirror again, it hit her with all the suddenness of love at first sight—the realization that, in all that time, Rodney hadn't once looked away from her.

As a resident, she'd seen family members steel themselves for unpleasant sights, love or obligation forcing them to suppress shudders when they encountered hideous injuries. Tears slid down her cheeks at the knowledge that she hadn't once seen that look in Rodney's eyes. Her illness hadn't repulsed him He hadn't visited out of obligation or in anticipation of how she'd look when her condition improved. Those weeks he spent by her side because he loved her.

She didn't think it was possible to love him more deeply than she already did. She was wrong. And as they stood in the gate room, arms around one another, luggage by their sides, waiting for the wormhole to form, she knew they had much to discuss. The road to recovery would be long, but with this man to share it, the journey ahead didn't seem so dark.

_**THE END**_

_**Thanks for reading; reviews are appreciated.**_

(1) See first chapter.


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